


And I Love The Thought Of Coming Home To You

by Nospheratt



Series: The Winter Soldier Reads Fanfic [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Reads Fanfic, Captain America Steve Rogers, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, PTSD, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, safe house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nospheratt/pseuds/Nospheratt
Summary: Steve stands at the other side of the small table, his furious blush half-hidden behind an enormous bouquet of wildflowers.Like the romantic hero from one of the fluffy fics Bucky reads while he’s away on missions.LikeStevein so many of the fluffy fics Bucky reads when he’s alone with his wildest dreams. The nights when his chest is a dark void of longing and missing things he’s never had.“For you,” Steve blurts, thrusting the bouquet across the table, towards Bucky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: The Winter Soldier Reads Fanfic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161074
Comments: 9
Kudos: 82





	And I Love The Thought Of Coming Home To You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rainbow_nerds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbow_nerds/gifts).



_**A few years ago**_  
_Triskelion, Washington, D.C._

The Asset doesn’t understand why the mission— _the giant blond dumbass_ , something whispers from the depths of his bones—allows the Asset to beat him. Why the mission chooses to be killed instead of fighting back.

The Asset doesn’t know what regret means. Until he has the mission’s face destroyed under his fists. Until the mission’s swollen lips gurgle, _Then finish it. ‘Cause I am with you till the end of the line_.

Before today, the Asset hadn’t known fear for a long time. The Asset didn’t even remember fear. Until he sees the mission— _Steve_ , he thinks, ridiculously—fall down, beyond his grasp, to a watery grave.

 _Steve_. As he watches Steve fall, the Asset turns into a being made entirely of terror.

Unthinking, he follows Steve down like an animal mindless with fear, fighting for its life. Except it’s not his own life, but Steve’s life, and somehow it’s the same.

 _No. Not the same_.

Steve’s life is more necessary for the Asset’s existence than his own.

The Asset knows that to be the truth.

*

_**Present Day**_  
_Somewhere in Europe_

Even working in accord with the Avengers, Bucky never knows what he’s going to find when he comes back from a mission to his assigned safe house. Back when he was the Asset, he’d been ensconced in some pretty shitty rat holes. _Literally,_ one gruesome, memorable time, when he was forced to hide in the forbidden parts of the Paris catacombs.

Bucky didn’t have his little fics to keep him company then. 

No memories of Steve, of himself. No safe house waiting for him—only the chair and the deep cold of cryo. 

No concept of a life without pain and misery. Nothing to distract his mind from _darkness tomb closed death forgotten._

A shiver races up his legs and scrambles his guts. Looking around, focusing on the airy, sun-drenched place he is in, he anchors his gaze to the bright blue bed covers, takes a deep breath. _Inhale count to five, hold, exhale count to eight. Breathe_. _Breathe._

 _Now is not then_.

Unlike Hydra, the Avengers—and most of all, Steve, Bucky suspects, but never says anything—are big on humane work conditions. Even for broken, some-times-murderous, brainwashed ex-assassins. 

And yeah, Bucky is still capable of going full-on murderous when the situation warrants it. Like when Steve is being an extra-dumbass and putting his life at risk unnecessarily. Which is to say, every other day.

The Avengers usually have Bucky’s back when he goes murderous for that reason. They’re pleased that Bucky is now the Chief-Keep-Steve’s-Dumb-Ass-Safe-Officer, and Bucky can’t blame them. Herding Steve is, after all, a full time job paid in grumbles, bullheaded arguments and lots of ridiculous sulking.

Bucky wouldn’t trade it for anything.

But the Avengers are very happy to have someone else dealing with Steve’s recklessness and disregard for his own life and wellbeing, someone Steve listens to (most of the time). So they take very good care of Bucky. 

The latest safe house is as good as all the previous ones. Small, discreet, sparse and clean. White painted walls. One open room, bathroom the only separate space. Two windows, one on each side of the front door. Kitchen stuff to the right, a bunk bed shoved to the left wall. In the middle, an old yellow formica table flanked by two wooden chairs.

Sunshine flows gently through the white curtains, flooding the space with warm light.

Nothing like rat-infested forgotten catacombs.

Shuddering, he walks to the little sink in the kitchen area, carefully ignoring the slight medical vibe of the stainless steel, and opens the faucet. Clear water pours out. Unmistakable sign that this is _now_. Not before.

Soap. Another anchor.

With a relieved sigh, he removes his gloves and allows himself the luxury of thoroughly washing his hands with cool, clean water and lavender scented soap.

 _Who the hell wastes nice soap on a safe_ —

Smile trapped firmly behind his lips, he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve Steve’s care and devotion, but it warms the empty spaces inside his bones all the same, like a wool blanket and hot cocoa on a winter night. Another sigh runs through him, this one carried by wistfulness.

Oh the simple thought of sharing a blanket and cocoa with Steve, entwined with his giant furnace of a body, watching old movies, maybe leaning his head on Steve’s solid shoulder. Bucky’s entire being aches with longing. But he can’t, he won’t cross that line.

Ever since he returned to the ranks of the living, sentient beings, he wants to consume Steve. Make him a permanent part of himself. Keep Steve under his own ribs, safe and protected.

That had been the first thing to come back to him, the primordial part of what nowadays can passably be called his self: this primal need to _protect._

After all that has been done to him, after surviving it all, Bucky doesn’t fear much these days. But he is _scared to death and beyond_ of being rejected by Steve, maybe cast aside in disgust. He’d rather live the rest of his life basking in the warm glow of Steve’s friendship, than lose him entirely in a fool’s gamble for more.

No matter how much his very soul burns with yearning and want and…that other thing he won’t name. It isn’t worth the risk.

Three minutes and thirty seven seconds after Bucky entered the safe house, the back door opens. Bucky doesn’t turn or stop the meticulous cleaning of his wrist plates. He’d recognize those light and at the same time lumbering steps anywhere. Anytime.

“Hey, Buck.”

Silent, Bucky nods in greeting. Not ready yet to look at Steve, to see the sweet grin he seems to have attached to his face anytime his gaze finds Bucky. 

Once he deems his hands clean enough, he grabs the dish towel that hangs on a tomato-shaped hook to dry himself. It’s pretty, pristine white decorated with red, blue and yellow stripes. Cheery and so far out of place in a safe house, it belongs to another galaxy.

“A dish towel, Steve, really?” he asks as he turns, and is struck dumb.

Steve stands at the other side of the small table, his furious blush half-hidden behind an enormous bouquet of wildflowers.

Like the romantic hero from one of the fluffy fics Bucky reads while he’s away on missions.

Like _Steve_ in so many of the fluffy fics Bucky reads when he’s alone with his wildest dreams. The nights when his chest is a dark void of longing and missing things he’s never had.

“For you,” Steve blurts, thrusting the bouquet across the table, towards Bucky. The color of Steve’s cheeks could save the fire department a fortune in paint, his grin bright enough to illuminate the entire state of New York for a week. He looks so good, warm and solid and _real_ in a brown leather jacket, cream colored sweater and dark jeans.

And flowers.

“For…me.” For some unfathomable reason, Bucky is glad he has clean hands to gingerly take the gift from Steve and stare dumbly at it. He doesn’t know the names of any of the flowers, but the riot of colors paints his chest with sunshine, sunset and dawn. The deep breath he takes to center himself and stop his insides from knotting fills him with soft sweetness and vivid green, the smell of living things, happy things. A smile comes to lurk on the corner of his lips as he lifts his gaze to Steve. “Why?”

Looking unfairly good, good enough to hug, to touch, to grasp and never let go, Steve bites his lower lip and lifts a hand to squeeze the back of his neck, shrugs the opposite shoulder. “I was thinking—”

“That’s never good,” Bucky quips, trying to quiet the thing clawing at his throat with confessions he hasn’t found courage enough to make.

“Okay, please, hear me out, alright?” Steve blabbers and Bucky frowns as Steve plows forward, stampeding over the words like a raging bull, arms restless about him while his gaze darts all over the small space, always landing on Bucky for a moment before darting away. “It’s okay if you’re not interested. I don’t want anything to change between us, no matter what happens. You can say no. You’ll always be my friend. Till the end of line, Buck, that will never change. And I would, if you’re interested, if it doesn’t sound weird, or make you feel uncomfortable—”

 _Oh_. Bucky’s belly clenches in fear and anticipation. “Steve.”

Steve stills and takes a deep breath, gaze finally founding Bucky’s and staying there, soft and vulnerable. “Will you go on a date with me?”

Oh gods.

Bucky never dared to even think he could have this. He can’t comprehend how this is happening. Steve, the person he loves more than anything, the best man to have ever walked the Earth and some other planets, is asking him on a date. 

Steve has asked him on a date. And his grin is getting dull, the light in his gaze faltering, because Bucky is staring at him like a dumb fuck instead of letting Steve know how much _yes_ his answer is.

Bucky is entirely made of _yes_.

“Yes.” He pours all the joy that burns in him into a slow smile, lets it bloom up to crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and Steve’s brilliant grin comes back with a vengeance. “A thousand times, yes.” Keeping his gaze on Steve’s face, Bucky deposits the flowers gently on the table and walks around it to stand right next to him. “Will you do something for me first?”

“Anything, Buck.” Steve beams as if Bucky is made of stars, his whole mountain of a body turning to face Bucky, and Bucky wants to bring distant galaxies to lay them at Steve’s feet.

They are toe to toe, Bucky looking up to find Steve’s gaze and take refuge there. He’ll never get enough of this giant, _his_ beloved giant, towering over him, blue eyes made of summer sky and everything that was ever good in the world.

“Kiss me?” Bucky doesn’t mean to whisper but he does, maybe afraid of breaking the spell and waking up bleeding in a ditch somewhere.

Steve’s eyes widen a tiny fraction, his mouth rounding a silent _oh_ before he licks his lips. With infinite gentleness, he cups Bucky’s face, thumb grazing over Bucky’s cheekbone. They both shudder in sync, the same electrical current running over their skin.

“I’ve waited so long for this, Buck,” Steve murmurs, leaning down until their foreheads touch and he closes his eyes. “So long.”

“Me too,” Bucky finally confesses.

And it is the last thing before he closes his eyes as their lips find each other, Steve’s sigh the sweetest thing Bucky has ever, ever known. He clasps Steve’s nape, fingers brushing over silky hair, and takes a step into Steve to slot their bodies together, warm like finding a long lost home.

The feel of Steve’s nose brushing his skin, slight wisps of breath dancing over his cheek makes Bucky’s knees weak. This is _Steve_ , smelling of green things, of happy things, so close, kissing Bucky. Steve wants him. Never in his wildest dreams or darkest hours has Bucky allowed himself to even imagine Steve wanting him, not like this.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, and Steve plunders his mouth, licks inside him, mouth open and hungry. One of Steve’s arms encircles Bucky’s waist and presses him closer, a firm anchor to Bucky’s wayward bones that suddenly seem made of hot water.

Bucky wants to devour Steve, and he finally has permission to do so. Tightening his grip on the back of Steve’s neck, he angles Steve’s head and kisses him like dawn kisses the darkness, pressing and taking and giving with all the hunger that gnaws at his core. Steve moans and whimpers, shuddering, surrendering, gasping _yes_ and _Buck,_ keeping his arms strong and sure around Bucky.

Dizzy with happiness and disbelief, skin hot and limbs loose, Bucky pulls at Steve’s hair to tilt his head and lick his throat, trace the edge of his jaw with his tongue.

“ _Bucky_. I—” Steve grunts, “I had a plan.”

“‘Course you did.” Bucky smiles against Steve’s skin, before sucking a bruise right under his ear.

“ _Ah_. I still do. I want— _Buck_.” Panting, each word gritted out with effort, Steve clings to Bucky’s waist with tight fingers, head tilted to allow Bucky to lick him. “A date.” 

Bucky lifts his head to look at him. It’s outrageous how Steve’s fiery blush only makes him more handsome, creating new knots of desire on Bucky’s belly. The way Steve bites his lower lip, half-shy, half-grin, sends lightening up Bucky’s spine. He wants to lick Steve all over, discover every secret of his body and his soul.

“I said yes, didn’t I?” Bucky arches a brow and lets his finger burrow into Steve’s silken hair, run free and gentle over his nape. “Unless a kiss was all you wanted, I can’t see why we wouldn’t go on a date.”

“Dates,” Steve says, reeling Bucky in for another sweet kiss, a touching of lips that promises so much more. “One won’t be enough. I want all the dates, Buck.” Something naked, raw and open softens his face, sparkles in his blue eyes. “I want everything.”

“Yes.” It’s Bucky’s turn to pull Steve down to touch their foreheads together and murmur, “Everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a Twitter drabble but I am nothing if not me, so it grew backstory and plot and a sequel (which will be published soon). 😁
> 
> Many, many thanks to [Rainbow Nerds for the prompt](https://twitter.com/Rainbow_Nerds_/status/1347683032417918981) that sparked this. 💚🧡💙
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Nospheratt).


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